“Not just any scramblette,” Ellen said, standing at the stovetop in the hotel bathrobe she’d illicitly acquired for Rae’s twenty-fifth birthday. “A Rae-bae scramblette.”
Rae felt something lift inside her, something that gave her hope that their tomorrows might resemble yesterdays. “You named a scramblette after me?” she said, entering the kitchenette and peering into the over-capacity skillet. “What’s in it?”
“Culinary sunshine—yellow peppers, yellow squash, fresh lemon.” Wielding the spatula like a presentation pointer stick, Ellen highlighted each ingredient in the eggy mound. “And then a few bay leaves on top.”
Rae changed into her bathrobe too. Over the gap in her bedroom wall, she called out, “What’re you trying to butter me up for?” She was the one who should’ve been cooking an Elle-belle scramblette. “Have I been replaced as maid of honor by Comedian Courtney?”
The couple of times Rae had tried to make plans with Ellen recently, Ellen had been out with a woman from work named Courtney, who was apparently “the most hilarious human in the history of humanity.” Rae had mentally tallied the ways in which she was no doubt funnier than Courtney before coming to the conclusion that, given that her core competency was her heart, not her humor, she should lean into her differentiation rather than conforming to the competition’s friendship model. Would Courtney wipe Ellen’s vomit from the toilet seat or put poems on her pillows? Rae didn’t think so.
“Maid-of-honor duties are safe,” Ellen said, handing her a plate of Rae-bae scramblette. “It’s just …”
“What?”
Ellen said the next sentence very quickly, as if it were a single ten-syllable word. “Aaron wants us to move in together.”
“Oh,” Rae said, settling into the couch and taking a forkful. “Well, I figured you’d move in together when our lease is up. I mean, you are gettingmarried.”
“But he wants it to happen now,” Ellen said. There were still four months left on their lease.
“Now as in …”
“Now.”
“Well,” Rae said, looking around the apartment and visualizing how it might accommodate a third person. “I guess we could squeeze him in. It would lower the per-person rent, and I really don’t sleep here that often. But he has to keep the toilet seat down. That’s a nonnegotiable clause.”
“Rae,” Ellen said, with an oddly sympathetic look. “Aaron wants me to move in withhim. Into his apartment. It’s a one-bedroom, so it just makes more sense …”
Rae set down her fork, and then her whole plate. “Right,” she said. “Of course. I figured that’s what you meant. I was just offering …”
“It’s a very sweet offer,” Ellen said, joining her on the couch. “I just think—it’s a new chapter for us, you know?”
Byus, she meant Aaron and Ellen, and Rae felt herself sink farther into the worn-out seat cushions.
“A new chapter,” Rae repeated bravely, trying to see the literary possibility of a blank page rather than the pain of realizing the one prior was finished, scribbled on from margin to margin, unable to accommodate another drop of ink.
“There’s a woman at work who’s interested in subletting,” Ellen said. “Not Courtney—don’t worry. I’ve fully vetted her. The only red flag is that she’s one of those inbox-zero people, but that’s not really a deal breaker. And,” Ellen continued, as if offering up the opportunity of a lifetime, “you could move into my room and get the full wall!”
Rather than exciting Rae, the prospect added to the sensation that things were being closed off.
“And since you practically live at Dustin’s anyway now, you’ll hardly even miss me,” Ellen went on. “And—”
Rae cut her off. “When’re you leaving?”
“Aaron’s planning to borrow his friend’s car this weekend,” Ellen said. “If that’s okay with you?”
“This weekend as in tomorrow?”
Ellen nodded. “He just found out about the car …”
Rae stood up. She wanted to throw out the scramblette, but she just stashed it in the midget refrigerator. “Fine by me.”
“You’ll still be my best friend, obviously,” Ellen said.
“After Aaron.” The maturity date of their best-friend bond had finally arrived. Rae shed her robe for her coat. “I’m going to stay at Dustin’s.”
“You don’t want to have a girls’ night?” Ellen asked, in a quiet voice. “Play Snack & Swipe and try and catch popcorn in our mouths, like old times?”
Rae paused in the doorway. Their friendship was pivoting, with so much uncertainty in the outlook. “We don’t have dating apps anymore. What would we swipe?”
